BROWN
Jirou lugged in a giant green speaker and set it on the floor. Aizawa sighed and said, "We get enough noise complaints as is. Please come up with a quiet idea."
"Actually, this won't be on the audible spectrum."
"Audible for humans, maybe, but what about Hound Dog? Last time someone blew a dog whistle, we had thirty bodies to clean up."
"Other end of the spectrum, sensei."
"Other end of – no, Jirou, wait!"
Jirou plugged her earphone into the amp. The air wobbled. The practice dummy standing in front of the speaker shivered, then quaked, and finally let out a loud squelching noise as its insides were forcibly expelled out its backside.
"Jirou," Aizawa said weakly. "You do realize sound propagates radially from a source, right?"
"Yeah, what about it?" Jirou looked back at him and noticed that his pants were sagging. "Oh. Oh my god, I'm so sorry."
His pants fell down, revealing a diaper underneath. Jirou looked down, then up, and asked, "Did you know what I was planning?"
Aizawa looked away. "Yes."
"Sensei."
"It's only logical to be prepared for any possibility." Under his breath, Aizawa added, "No wonder why Nezu's been in the bathroom for the past hour."
Present Mic kicked down the door and shouted, "Toilet paper! Now!"
Aizawa tossed him a roll. As Present Mic scurried away with his prize, Aizawa asked, "How much range does that amp have?"
It was a peaceful day in Japan. Flowers were blooming, birds were singing, and villains got their teeth knocked out by heroes.
It started with a subtle rumbling of the belly. Many brushed it off as a bout of gas, or that burrito they ate earlier. The rumbling turned into a full-bellied quivering, as though the intestines had come alive and were trying to wriggle free. Pressure mounted, and people panicked, rushing for bathrooms. They were all too late.
Drivers swerved off the road and slammed into street signs. Traffic control officers gave strangled orders, and distressed pilots swerved into each other. One unfortunate newscaster soiled themselves on live television, spreading peoples' imminent doom seconds before their own intestines betrayed them.
A man sat hunched over the toilet, sweating and groaning as his intestines burned from the malodorous burden clogging his colon. As his vision swam and the light faded, as death rapped its bony knuckles on the stall, a shiver of the air, gentle as the graze of an angel's wings, alighted on the man's tortured bowels. With a stomach-rending expulsion of bodily waste, the man moaned in pained ecstasy. The toilet refused to flush, and the man offered it his tired sympathies as he zipped up, washed up, and whistled out the door.
He stopped cold at the vista of brown-smeared streets, soiled pants, and people begging for toilet paper, and believed he had died and gone to his own personal hell.
From his luxury toilet, Nezu cackled wildly, flushed, and folded up his newspaper.
493
By far the shittiest drabble I have ever written.